


Liminal Spaces

by sakura_freefall



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas dinner gone wrong, Connor is trying, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Making Up, Making things right, Past Arguments, Protective Siblings, Sibling Bonding, Sincerely Us: Gift Exchange (Dear Evan Hansen), Wintertime, Zoe is Bad At Feelings but Also Trying, but it turns out ok, homophobic family members, not romance focused
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:15:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28497432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakura_freefall/pseuds/sakura_freefall
Summary: Christmas with the Murphy family is never easy. Throw in some jerk relatives and family tension, and you've got a recipe for disaster.Or, Connor and Zoe work out their problems on Christmas Eve after making some very impulsive decisions.---------------------------------For the 2020-2021 Sincerely Us Gift Exchange
Relationships: Connor Murphy & Zoe Murphy, background Connor Murphy/Evan Hansen
Comments: 6
Kudos: 49





	Liminal Spaces

**Author's Note:**

> This work is for the Sincerely Us Gift Exchange.   
> Prompt Used: An awkward Murphy Christmas dinner complete with some Zoe-Connor bonding/reconciling for past behaviour.
> 
> (I also wrote this with Connor being coded as autistic, as that's a personal headcanon of mine. I'll leave it up to reader interpretation whether or not you want to see it that way.)

Connor always liked Christmas, as a kid. Really. He likes hot cocoa, the fluffy white snow that piles up outside their windows on good years, the flickering glow of a warm fireplace. What he doesn't know is when he stopped.

Maybe it was at age seven, when the kids in his school threw a Christmas party and invited everyone except him. Maybe it was at age twelve, when Larry's job moved their overseas conference to Christmas weekend and Cynthia forgot about Connor's present. Maybe it was at age fifteen, when he spent Christmas in the in-patient program after a particularly nasty self-harm incident.

Somewhere along the line, it turned into just another obstacle, all glitz and glamour and no real substance. Put up the tree. Help Larry string lights. Get some cheap shit as presents for his family, it wasn't like they really cared. Shovel snow if there was any. Smile for the cameras and then sit down on the sofa and watch television while Cynthia stressed about the turkey. Relatives he barely knew. Every year, the same thing. Rinse and repeat.

This year though, there is an extra level of challenge. This is the first year that he's out as gay.

Cynthia and Larry took it surprisingly well, when he explained that he liked boys, and that he had a boyfriend, and that he wasn't going to give them any grandchildren. Larry grumbled for a bit, of course, but deep down Connor knows that he's just glad that Connor didn't get kicked out of school or anything. Cynthia thought it was a phase, but liked Evan, Connor's boyfriend. "Such a sweet, well-mannered little boy," she'd say. Connor's well aware that she likes Evan more than him, quiet, smart, polite Evan who always said please and thank you and didn't smoke weed on the back porch while he was supposed to be doing his homework.

It stings, more than he'd like to admit.

Compared to his extended family, though, Connor's parents are downright softhearted. Whether it's his conservative grandparents or his absolute shithead of a cousin, or even his wealthy aunt who only cares about her next job deal, none of them exactly like Connor's  _ attitude.  _

"CONNOR!" Connor's sister, Zoe Murphy, stands in the kitchen, caramel-colored hair framing her freckled face. Everything about Zoe is bright and warm and fiery, a sparkler of energy and vivacity compared to Connor, who's more of an ocean in a storm. Cold, quiet, never letting much on until the lightning breaks loose and the waves come in swells of crushing energy.

"Zoe, what do you  _ want?" _

"You're supposed to be chopping vegetables for the salad! We have thirty minutes until they start getting here!" Oh, right. Salad. Responsibilities. He doesn't even like salad. 

"You chop the fucking salad then, if you care so much!"

"Fuck you!" Zoe replies, face flushed with emotion.

"Language, Connor," Larry says. Connor isn't quite sure when he stopped being "Dad" and became "Larry", but the tall, stern man is too different- and similar- from Connor to feel like a father. Connor's afraid, too, of turning into someone like Larry, all steel and no emotion left.

"Hey! Zoe swore too!" Connor's just about had it with the tension in the house, and he'd rather it snap now than in front of an audience of gasping guests.

"She was provoked, Connor."

"She yelled first! Come on, Dad, I know you fucking like her better, doesn't mean you have to be so obvious about it-"

"Connor, I said language!"

"Whatever," Connor sighs, absently trudging up to his bedroom. At least he'd gotten out of the stupid salad.

"And put something decent on before they get here!" Larry yells up at him.

Connor's walls are blue, the same shade they'd been since he was a little boy. They're supposed to have a calming effect, but Connor thinks that's bullshit. Blue walls didn't stop him from kicking a hole through his door two years ago. Blue walls didn't stop him from bringing a razor blade to his skin on a particularly bad day. Blue walls didn't stop him from screaming incoherencies at Zoe that he swears he didn't really mean.

He sinks into the room, leaving his essence everywhere, because it's the only place in the house that's some semblance of  _ his.  _ It's not  _ home,  _ exactly- home is a small, tidy house with big, bright windows and colorful throw pillows, where he and Evan curl up in front of some nature documentary or shitty horror film with popcorn and a box of powdered donut holes and laugh until Connor forgets who he is, forgets that he's a worthless fucking piece of trash and can for once be someone's favourite.

But then he has to wake up. He has to wake up and be back by curfew, and go back to his house where Zoe is the one in the spotlight, Zoe who gets the charm, Zoe, Zoe, Zoe...

The doorbell jolts Connor from his thoughts. Great. Just fucking great. Connor skulks down the stairs, hoodie pulled tight around him, stiff jeans clinging at the lingering scars on his legs. Relatives' opinions be damned, why can't he just wear whatever he wants? He knows it's because Cynthia would have a fit, but still.

"Zoe!" shouts Aunt Elise, her always-perfect makeup and clippy heels already beginning to grate on Connor's nerves. She pulls Zoe into an awkward hug, and Zoe may be good at pretending, but Connor's known her longer than anyone else and can tell by the way that her arms draw slightly back, and how she chews the inside of her cheek and taps her foot in a rhythm against the floor that she's not okay. Stress radiates off her in waves, and he wonders how the rest don't see it.

"Hi Aunt Elise," Connor says, wondering if she's simply not noticed his presence or doesn't care. The side-eye she gives him is all the answer he needs.

Connor drifts through the time before dinner feeling like his head's been stuffed with cotton. It's all a blur of chatter and pointless conversations and fake smiles and even Zoe is looking visibly irritated by the time that Cynthia finally announces that dinner's ready.

Connor slides into a seat at the table and tries to pretend he doesn't exist. Cynthia's been on a diet health kick- the turkey is unbrined and unsalted, the salad dry without dressing, and the sparkling cider watered down until it's only a sour shadow of what it used to be. The mashed potatoes are the one redeeming quality about the meal, so he shovels bite after bite into his mouth, hoping everyone won't talk to him, won't bring up...

"So, Connor, do you have a girlfriend?" His cousin Mitch. Of course. Mitch is an even bigger asshole than Jared Kleinman from his school. He knows Connor's gay, he's only asking this to stir the pot and cause some drama. Connor knows he shouldn't take the bait, he should just ignore him, but the pressure's building up behind his eyes and his hands are clenching to the table and-

"No. I do have a boyfriend, though."

He's done it. Pulled the trigger, blown the bomb. Everyone stares in what can only be shocked silence. "How'd you get a boyfriend?" Mitch jeers. "Oh, yeah, you're probably the only other gay boy in the school, that's why. That's it. Not  _ real  _ love, just two edgy teenagers wanting hormones and a cheap getoff."

"Shut up, Mitch." Connor tries to look intimidating but Mitch is a college student, two years older than him, and mean as shit with even less impulse control than Connor. And that's saying something.

"No, I don't think I will," he sneers. "You know, that's just one step away from you and Zoe-"

"Mitch, that's enough," Larry mumbles, obviously irritated at the drop in temperature. "It's Christmas Eve, can you please-"

"Mitch, we talked about this," said Aunt Elise in a voice like stale honey. "Leave Connor alone, it's just a phase, don't encourage it..."

"It's not a phase!" Connor yells, and he's fed up, at his limit, and the itch to throw a punch is digging into his eyes like knives and it's red and he's trying to keep his feet planted on the floor, and he can't breathe, and-

"Oh, honey, you know they're all like this at this age, trying to be different and special, just give it a few years, he's not really-"

"Guys, stop, c'mon-"

"Poor Cynthia, I tell you, raising them so right and then this-"

"Connor's always been different, did you hear he tried to off himself last fall-"

"Mitch!"

"What, it's true! You know what they say, gay boys are more prone to-"

"He's not really  _ gay,  _ Mitch, he's just saying it for attention-"

Connor's storm is brewing. He can't move, can't speak, something else has taken over. Something else that he can't control, the monster in his head plunging to the forefront, he sees his arm lifting, feels the fire burn into a hard, dark coal in his chest, clenching the glass so hard he thinks it might shatter, hurls it across the table in slow motion, yellling as it crashes onto Mitch's head, and there's yelling, and shouts of  _ Connor why, Connor you ruined it, Connor you freak, Connor, Connor, Connor... _

"You know what? I can't blame him." And it's Zoe. Zoe who claims to hate him, Zoe who everyone loves, Zoe with her golden personality and perfect grades, Zoe who keeps it inside and never, ever loses control, Zoe is defending him, and his eyes go wide because why would Zoe do this, it makes no sense...

"Zoe, honey, please..."

"I said what I said! You guys-" Zoe points to Aunt Elise and his grandparents- "Are talking about him like he  _ can't even hear you, when he's right here!"  _ She glares at Mitch. "You're being an asshole to him just because you want someone to pick on. And  _ you,"  _ she huffs, shaking her head at Larry and Cynthia, "You're his PARENTS for God's sake! You're just sitting there like- like you're too afraid to say anything! You're his PARENTS!"

"Zoe, no, sit down-"

"Come on, Connor. We're fucking leaving." She grabs his hand, and there's something inside Connor, something different, something that he doesn't want to name. He's never seen his sister like this, when her walls break down and a river of fire spills out and it's almost scary to see her like this, so vulnerable and yet so powerful.

"No, young lady, you're absolutely not," growls Larry. "Sit down and apologize."

Zoe tosses her hair, normally-smiling mouth twisting into a snarl. "No. I'm sixteen and I don't want to be here right now. Me and Connor are going out. Enjoy your dinner."

"Zoe, you can't just-"

"Oh, and by the way," she says, her voice sweet with a knife's edge, "I'm pansexual."

She turns on her heel and heads to the garage, Connor following numbly in her steps.

The car is cold and the leather seat is like ice against Connor’s legs. Zoe slips into the driver’s seat, her expression perfectly even. She’s wearing a light pink jacket with so many colorful pins, he doesn’t bother trying to count. The only noise is all-encompassing silence and then the steady thrum of the engine and the creak of the garage door as Zoe pulls out into the street.

Lamps line the edges of Connor’s vision, warm and yellow and familiar, and Connor focuses on breathing, breathing, because this seems so impossible that he’s spending Christmas Eve with Zoe in her red sudan after running away from home and ditching his family’s Christmas party. It seems like something right out of a teenage drama novel, and he feels a flash of worry that if he thinks too hard he’ll wake up back in his bed, drowning in misery.

They make it all the way across the neighborhood before anyone talks. Zoe, as usual, speaks first. “Assholes. All of them. What I wouldn’t give to shove my fist up Mitch’s face.”

Connor is taken aback by her abruptness, especially considering the enormity of what they’ve done. All he can do is blurt out, “Are you really pansexual?”

“Yeah,” Zoe says, shrugging as if it’s no big deal. “I’ve known since sixth grade when I got a massive crush on Alana Beck. I wasn’t planning on telling anyone just yet, because you just came out and I didn’t want them to think I was just like, doing it because you were or something.”

“Since when have you done something because I do it? If we had different last names, nobody would even suspect we’re siblings.”

Zoe turns to face out the window, her light brown hair pale in the moonlight. “You’re right.”

Connor leans back in the seat. “Sorry, that was kind of harsh.”

“No, I don’t mind,” Zoe responds. “Just telling it like it is. And before you insult my taste, Alana’s really nice! And smart! Okay?”

“Listen, Zoe,” says Connor, snorting. “Me and Alana were lab partners in sophomore year. She’s  _ fine.  _ Just don’t like, make out with her or anything when I’m home, I don’t need that mental scarring.”

Zoe flushes bright pink. “Connor! We’re not- like, we aren’t even- you’re starting to sound like Jared Kleinman, you know that?”

“Unfair!”

“And you and Evan are holding hands and kissing every time I turn around at school, so you’re really one to talk here!”

“Zoe, shut up!” Connor swats her teasingly on the arm, causing her to glare at him. 

“Fuck you, I’m driving!”

“Wait, where are you even taking me? Are you gonna like, take me to a back alleyway and kill me or something?”

“No! What the fuck, Connor?” Suddenly she bursts out laughing, the tension evaporating like rain. “Connor!”

And Connor’s laughing too, because it’s so fucking  _ stupid,  _ what they’re doing, in a car, technically runaways, on Christmas fucking Eve, no idea where they’re going. Because Connor’s not angry or yelling or crying and Zoe’s not pissed off or mocking or disgusted, and they’re both there, in the same place, and not screaming at each other’s faces. And that’s an accomplishment.

Zoe finally pulls up to a shabby all-night cafe, the kind that’s always open, even on the day before a national holiday. The neon “OPEN” sign is buzzing on and off, a liminal space that looks like it’s halfway out of a shitty horror movie. She opens her car door after killing the engine, shoving her keys in her back pocket.

“C’mon, get out!” Connor steps out into the cold, hearing the slush squish against his boots, not quite snow and not quite a puddle. In between. It’s freezing, and he can see his breath almost like smoke as the wind bites his nose. There are stars in the sky, faint because of cloud cover, and the moon makes everything look washed in frost. 

The two trudge to the door, Connor pushing the door open with a  _ ping,  _ before sitting down on a scuffed corner table. Zoe plops down beside him, rubbing her hands in an effort to warm them up.

“Want to order like, drinks or something? It’ll look weird if we just sit here.”

“Do we have money?” Connor asks. It’s a dumb question, but he has to say something.

Zoe scoffs. “Do I look like a fucking idiot?” She pulls out a fake-leather wallet, like a smaller version of the one Cynthia has. “Pick something cheap, okay? I’m already dead broke from Christmas shopping.”

“Hot chocolate?” Connor asks. “Okay, I know it’s stupid, but I just really like it, okay? And not the weird watery kind Cynthia makes!”

“It’s not  _ that  _ bad,” Zoe groans. “Okay, it is that bad. But yes, I will go get my child-at-heart brother a hot chocolate.”

“Hey!”

“Fine. I’m kidding. You can drink whatever you want. Free country.” Zoe walks up to the counter with a sheaf of bills tucked in her hand, and Connor loses himself in thought.

Why, he thinks, is Zoe sticking up for him? Zoe usually seems amused or at least disinterested with watching him crash and burn. But today, something changed. He doesn’t know what it is, or why any of it is the way it is, but maybe that’s for the better.

Grade School Connor used to be different. Grade School Connor used to be smart and good at school, and polite, and energetic. He used to beam with pride at hearing teachers praise his outstanding scores, grin toothily as he held up Science Bowl trophies.

Grade School Zoe was different, too. Grade School Zoe was outgoing and friendly and always had something to say. Loud, boisterous, bossy, hyperactive Zoe. Somewhere along the line, they’d changed. He doesn’t know when, didn’t know when Zoe started closing in on herself, when he started lashing out, just that time had passed and they’d ended up different.

Zoe feels like a stranger to Connor. Like someone he should know but doesn’t, like a vague thought at the edge of his mind. He loves her- she’s his sister after all, but he doesn’t really know her. Not the way she is now. And he has no idea how to show her.

He’s not sure if Zoe loves him either, or if he’s just a nuisance, an embarrassment to her. But there was tonight, and that has to count for something, doesn’t it?

Zoe huffs as she slides back into her seat. “Hey,” she says awkwardly.

“Hi.”

“You look like you have something on your mind,” she says, tilting her head curiously. “Wanna spill?”

Connor sighs. “I don’t know. It’s just-” he steels himself- “just that I feel like everything’s so different now. Between us. Like, I know you, but I don’t know you. If that makes any sense,” he finishes lamely.

“Like we’re a million worlds apart?”

“Yeah,” agrees Connor. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“And?” Zoe prompts him, propping her elbows on the tabletop.

Connor runs a hand through his long hair. “Like, I think you’re neat. Like how you scribble stars on the cuffs of your jeans when you’re bored. And how you put indigo streaks in your hair one time, and Larry flipped out.” He’s never been this, sappy, for lack of a better word, but it’s tumbling out of him like a waterfall, all the things he was too afraid to say for too long. “And it’s cool how you dance sometimes like you don’t care who sees you. And your guitar. It’s so fucking good. I don’t even like jazz, but your jazz is cool.”

“Wow,” Zoe says, half to herself. “I guess I- maybe... I didn’t think you noticed that stuff.”

“I do,” he says, biting his lip. “It’s just there’s not really much privacy at home, and someone’s always fighting…”

“I get that,” Zoe mutters. “Believe me.”

“Look,” Connor says, feeling a little braver now. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry for yelling at you, it’s just like a tidal wave. It comes out of nowhere and it just- it’s not an excuse, I know, but I can’t stop it because it’s always there and sometimes it breaks through. So yeah.”

Zoe mulls it over for a few moments before responding. “It’s not your fucking fault that Mom and Dad won’t let you get therapy, or medicine, or anything. That’s their problem. Like, I could do without the banging on my door and trashing the house, but I get it. It’s hard to stop. I’m not trying to blame you. And it’s not like I never blow up either. I’m just better at... keeping it covered up. Playing the game of pretend.”

“Ah,” Connor says, and he’s tried playing it that way before and it never works, so Zoe is lucky. “I guess that makes sense.”

“Drinks for… Zoe Murphy?” asks the lady at the counter. “One vanilla latte and one large hot chocolate?”

“Yep, that’s me,” Zoe says, and it’s like someone’s flipped a switch. Real Zoe and the Zoe they see. He doesn’t know how she does it.

Connor holds the cup warm against his hands, sipping it through the tiny hole and feeling creamy chocolate wash over his tongue. Not watered down, strong and real.

“You know what?” asks Zoe, taking a swig of her drink.

“What?”

“I have an idea. Let’s make a pact. An agreement or something. I’ll try to be more honest about how I’m feeling, and you’ll try to not blow up at me. You can still blow up at Dad though, he deserves it. Most of the time. It’s okay if this is a stupid idea or whatever.”

Connor smiles, a real smile this time. “You know what, that’s actually a good idea.”

“Should we shake on it or something? Like the corny stuff they had us do in grade school?”

He shakes his head, snorting. “No fucking way. Take my word for it.”

“Okay,” laughs Zoe, and they touch glasses and drink, a little bit of cream staining Zoe’s freckled nose. She wipes it off with a grin. “Here’s to us.”

The drink warms Connor’s throat, and he slings his arm around Zoe, and in that moment they are invincible.

They both know, unspoken, that it won’t be easy. There will be more fights and more arguments and days when they feel like chucking it in the trash and giving up. There will be misunderstandings and miscommunications and all sorts of broken, scarred things like the broken, scarred beings they are. But maybe for now, right here, they can just  _ be,  _ and not worry about the future or anything except for the warmth of the cafe, the snow finally beginning to drift down outside, and they can live in their own little liminal space, for as long as it can last.

Zoe kills the moment. “When we get back, we’re going to be in so much fucking trouble.” 

“You know what? I don’t really care.” And for once, they both agree. They have each other, and right now, that’s enough.


End file.
